There was an explosion a few blocks to the west of the building, a gigantic blast that shook the windows and the walls of the tenement building, and snapped him from his reminiscing. The brunette didn’t stop stroking his cock; indeed, she tightened her grip and began jerking him with even more intensity and focus. He could feel his balls swell up and the cum surge through his shaft. She aimed his cock so it was shooting straight up and the white goo exploded into an arc, perhaps a foot and half into the air before falling down, onto her long-nailed hands and his still-hard shaft. Johannah watched the whole thing, three fingers working her cunt, her other hand rubbing her clit in tight little circles. She moaned loudly, almost screaming, as her orgasm rocked through her body, the same time the explosion rocked the west side of Brooklyn and the cum erupted from her master’s cock. The brunette smiled devilishly and ran her cum-covered hands through her long, dark hair. Johannah leaned over and buried her face in Jame’s neck, kissing him and licking his skin.

He stared at the M-16 on the ground. He was tired. They spent a good part of the morning looking for water, and the Storm was moving fast from the south, moving up from New Jersey. He had cum three times and it wasn’t even noon yet. Johannah’s face was covered in sweat and cum. The brunette’s hair was sticky with his juice. Both girl’s bodies were dirty, yet firm and athletic. He wanted to undo the steel collars, wanted to retire to the spare room, where they could all fuck and rest; but the explosion seemed too close for them to stay. And this worried him.

They had been spared, at least for the previous Storms, and he had no idea how the Storm was manifesting itself this time. In addition to the viral effect, the Storms would sometimes infect roaches, rats, dogs, cats, insects, people: anything that breathed. You could trust nothing and trust no one. It led to widespread insanity, people losing their grip on reality, because reality had truly lost its grip.

He looked at both girls.

“We need to go.”

“Where will we go?” asked Johannah. “Where will we fuck?”

“Yes,” echoed her brunette friend, “I want to fuck. I want your cock inside of me. You know we need it.”

“We’ll find someplace,” he said, getting up from the couch and grabbing the gun off the ground, throwing it over his shoulder. “We’ll find someplace and we’ll fuck there. In the meantime go to the spare room and get something to fill your holes.”

Filling the holes was a temporary fix. The girls were not exageratting. Too long without cock, and the virus would slowly destroy them. They would die. So providing them with dildoes, vibrators, butt plugs, anything that could penetrate and spread them, fill them up with the sense of being filled with cock, would act as a panacea, until they were able to actually fuck. The spare room was filled with a varying array of toys for the girls. They would be on the move though, so the only toys that would work in this case would be the butt plugs.

Johannah walked to the room, the steel collar around her neck. Even now, in the midst of all this chaos, he still looked at her ass with utter amazement: strong, firm and huge, begging to be filled with cock. He wished he could just bend her over right now and shove his cock into her asshole, but they had to move. After a few minutes she came back out with a large metal butt plug and an equally large clear plastic butt plug.

“Here,” she said, giving the plugs to James. “Put them in us.”

He took the butt plugs in his hand, admiring their heft. Both girls leaned over the couch, extended their asses to him. He went to the brunette first. Her legs were long and lithe, spread apart. She reached behind to spread her small, firm butt cheeks to expose her starfish. He admired the pinkness and spit on it to lube her up, running a forefinger around the rim before he gently punctured it. He took the metal butt plug, which tapered from a dull tip to around three-inches wide at its greatest diameter, tapering off again to the base, and pressed it to her asshole. He slowly eased it in. The brunette gasped as the entire plug disappeared into her butt, exposing nothing but the shimmering cold silver of the saucer-like bass. Johannah watched with admiration.

He walked over to the blonde, and ran a finger between her thick butt cheeks. Compared to the brunette, Johannah was all ass: creamy round cheeks that seemed to jut out and attract a cock like a magnet. And, indeed, his cock grew hard once again, playing with the blonde’s butthole. He spit on her asshole and rubbed it in, digging a couple of fingers in up to his knuckle. She moaned loudly and grabbed hold of the couch. He took the clear plastic butt plug and pressed it against her puckered starfish and gently eased it in.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” she moaned. “Stick that thing in my fucking ass. Fuck me with it!”

As her ass reluctantly gaped open to allow the plug to enter, she gasped deeply. The brunette leaned across the couch and kissed Johannah on the lips, searching her mouth with her tongue. Johannah continued to moan, the sounds muffled by their joined lips. As the plug moved past its greatest width and tapered off, her tight, little asshole clamped shut on the clear plastic, sucking it into her body. Her breathing was short and quick. They were now ready to go.

He knew they would have to move quickly, but he was reticent to remove the steel collars. These collars were not to punish the girls; they were loyal to him and he had no doubt that they were his. The collars were to protect them, to keep them from being stolen, and this is why he had them on the heavy steel chains. But as the Storm approached this block, he felt they needed to be agile and move. The butt plugs themselves would limit their ability to move; the collars and chains were simply too bulky.

So they stood there: the brunette with her cum-caked hair, a steel butt plug shoved into her ass and a pair of rugged, black combat boots. Johannah, her blonde hair sprawled out gloriously, the sticky juice of cum and sweat on her face and tits, an identical pair of combat boots on. And himself, the M-16 slung over his shoulder, his enormous cock, which seemed to be- if not always rock hard- ready to spring to action at any minute, glistening with saliva, sweat and juice, rounds of ammo wrapped around his torso. None of them wanted to leave. He would prefer to go in the spare room and slip his thick cock into each of their pussies, but they had to go.

“Let’s move.”

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